There is a pause inside my type of living lately. A small pause, that catches my breath and holds me still. Still to the silence of the night, yet makes me afraid of the dark. A little more than I usually am. I am afraid of the vulnerability of my heart. It captures and opens, and the pause rests within my soul and makes me wonder what I’m doing here.
Here in this space that seems so gray, without certainty but hopefully with lots of forgiveness and room to move. My legs wave through the bitter measure of discomfort, and all the unknown that I would somehow need to sift through. Each step I take makes it a little less hard, but also at the same time makes it more pronounced that my story isn’t complete yet. I wonder what is on the next page.
I feel like I am the constant semicolon. I don’t know how to finish this sentence, but I know something needs to happen. It isn’t an end, nor is it a beginning. It is something that needs to continue in a different way; a brave way. Whatever the next page is, it requires bravery, it requires blind faith, it requires careful measure and counting, it requires a leap of intense and vulnerable love. I am learning. I am opening up and flowering, but some days it is easier to close up and unlearn.
This pause is painful. This pause is necessary.